


I Get All the Weird Ones....

by debirlfan



Category: Allstate Insurance "Mayhem" Commercials, SCP Foundation
Genre: Crossover, Fatal accident, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 08:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16280891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/pseuds/debirlfan
Summary: Mayhem is sent to the scene of an accident. It's not what they'd have you think.





	I Get All the Weird Ones....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/gifts).



Over the years, I've occasionally been asked if Mayhem is my first name, or my last. It's the latter. My first name is actually Ralph. Pretty mundane, no? Ralph David Mayhem. There's a reason everyone knows me by my last name.

I've been Allstate's television spokesman since 2010, but what most don't know is that I've been with them for far longer. I was originally hired as an insurance agent, and I still go out on claims when I'm not doing the tv thing.

My bosses claim that it's totally random, but somehow, I seem to get all the weird ones. Just last week, I got called for a farmer reporting crop damage. Too much wind, too much rain? Doesn't sound like the sort of case they'd send me on, until I find out the “crop damage” amounts to a bunch of giant crop circles that knocked over most of his corn. The farmer insists that it's aliens, even reports seeing strange lights in the fields over night.

Well, after a little investigation, it turns out the “aliens” were a bunch of neighborhood kids that were screwing with the old man. He was lucky it wasn't actual aliens. He's covered for malicious property destruction, but not for extraterrestrial artwork. We paid off, and the kids got sent to juvie.

Most of the cases I get are like that. Like the guy with the hole punched through his roof, his dining room ceiling, the table and the floor, all lined up in a perfectly straight line. (Micro-meteorite. Extremely rare, but nothing supernatural.) And one of my favorites, the woman who claimed she was run off the road by a pickup being driven by Bigfoot. That one took some detective work, but we finally determined Bigfoot was actually a guy coming home from a Star Wars themed costume party dressed as Chewbacca. He'd been drinking, which was why he didn't stop.

Occasionally, though, I do get one that defies all rational explanation....

I was on my way home from the bar when I get a call from the boss. A customer reported being in an accident on route 10, and could I swing over there and see what was going on. (Before you get any ideas, no, I hadn't been drinking. I was watching football. My satellite dish had suffered...a minor incident. Tampa Bay won the game. Things just got stranger from there.)

The police were already on scene when I got there, several cruisers worth of flashing lights. I looked things over. The car was a big, top-of-the-line Caddy. The front end was pretty well crushed it. Ten thousand in damage, at least. Ouch. What had been hit, well, that was a little harder to identify. The shape was more or less that of a large human, but it appeared to be made of concrete, with a few pieces of rebar re-enforcement showing here and there, and a few random splashes of paint. Some new-age art piece? The cops seemed pretty puzzled, too, as most of them were staring at it.

I walked up to the officer who seemed to be in charge, introduced myself, and showed him my Allstate identification. “Where's the driver?” I asked.

More attention on his radio than on me, he gestured with his thumb. “Still in the car.”

Okay. Odd that everyone was looking at the statue, and nobody was interviewing her, but maybe she'd invoked her rights. I went around to the driver's side.

There was a reason they weren't interviewing her. She was dead. Very dead, with her neck broken in such a manner that I didn't need a medical examiner to tell me it was broken. There was no way she'd called in the accident.

I went back to the officer I'd initially spoken with. Sargent Richards, according to his name tag. “Did she have any passengers?”

“No, alone in the car,” he answered. It confirmed my own observations. The driver's airbag was the only one that had deployed, there was no damage to the passenger side windshield. 

“Any idea what happened?”

“Looks like that piece of concrete, whatever it is, probably fell off a truck. From the skid marks, I'd say she didn't see it until it was too late.” Abruptly, he blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “Damn these lights. I know why passing drivers complain. I could almost swear that thing moved.” 

I excused myself and went back to my car. I called the office. “That accident on 10. Are you sure that was the driver that called? Could it have been an OnStar operator, or a passer-by?”

I could almost hear the shrug. “Woman identified herself as the driver of the car. She was kind of freaked out. Thought she'd hit someone. Why?”

“Never mind.” They weren't going to believe me, anyhow. “I'll get back to you,” I said, before hanging up.

As I got out of my car, several black vehicles pulled up. They were mostly SUVs, but one was a box truck that appeared, for want of a better term, to be heavily armored. I watched as perhaps half a dozen identically dressed men piled out of the vehicles and surrounded the statue. Another of the men approached Richards. I couldn't hear the exchange, but it appeared to be an animated discussion, and my friend didn't seem very happy when it ended. He called something in on his radio, then headed my way.

“What's up?” I asked, as he approached.

“Feds. They're taking over the investigation.”

That explained the matching tasteless dark suits. Why the feds would be interested in a traffic accident was less clear. “What agency?”

“According to his ID, the SCP.” 

“Who?” On occasion, I'd crossed paths with the FBI, the CIA and even NASA, but that was a new one.

“SCP,” he repeated. “I don't know who they are, either, but the Chief says they're legit and to give them whatever they want. Apparently that statue thing is theirs.”

Interesting. I looked back toward the scene. The other officers were all walking back to their vehicles, and the newcomers were loading the statue, if that's what it was, into some sort of carrier that they'd taken from the truck. Maybe the damn thing was radioactive?

“What about the car and driver?” It might sound heartless, but it was my job to protect Allstate. If the accident was the government's fault, because they'd dropped something in the middle of the road, then the company wasn't going to pay off, at least not without a fight.

“They said they'd take care of it. I don't--” Whatever else he'd been going to say went unspoken, as one of the black-suited agents approached us. 

The agent carried a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other. The pen reflected headlights oddly, seeming to almost glow. I tore my gaze from it to focus on the agent as he began speaking. 

“I thank you gentlemen for your assistance. Such an unfortunate accident. Poor woman. It appears that an animal ran out in front of her and she lost control, striking the Jersey barrier. Air bag broke her neck. The best safety equipment, and sometimes it's just not enough. I took the liberty of filling out a report, if the two of you could just sign at the bottom, I already have signatures from the other officers.”

I had started to open my mouth to protest, when I glanced over at Richards, expecting him to argue. He was staring at the pen, a glazed look in his eyes. Slowly, he reached forward, took the pen and signed where the agent indicated.

My name is Mayhem, not Stupid. I plastered a blank expression on my face and pulled a pen from my shirt pocket, taking the clipboard and signing just below Richards. There are some things Allstate just doesn't pay me enough for.

The agent eyed me, his brow raised, but eventually he gave a slight shrug. “Thank you again, gentlemen. You may go now. We'll take it from here.”

Richards started walking toward his vehicle, and I wasted no time getting into mine. As I started it up, I noticed that the box truck was gone, and a wrecker and the coroner had both arrived. Discretion being the better part of valor, I got the hell out of there.

Since that night, I've done a little research. Whoever they are, the SCP keeps a damn low profile. I've heard a few vague rumors, but little else. One thing I'm sure of though—whatever it was, that thing was no statue.


End file.
